The Food Critic

The retirement community where I live claims to serve meals “as in a four-star restaurant.” When we go to lunch, we sit at tables covered with white cloths, unfold our linen napkins, and open leather menu covers to select the entree. Our waitress, in her uniform of white shirt and dark tie, writes down our choices among the dismal offerings.

Often the combinations are – well, strange – and things that sound “gourmet” on the printed menu turn out to be – well -- disappointing to the palate.

I go to the office and complain. Am I a crank? What gives me the authority to be a food critic?

My development as a connoisseur of food came in three phases: my childhood in Texas, my years as a suburban housewife in Chicago, and as a retiree traveling and enjoying the cuisine in other countries.

(1) Growing Up in Texas

My ancestors came to Texas in covered wagons. My grandmother and mother cooked like typical Texans: fried eggs, fried bacon, fried chicken, and chicken-fried steak. Cornbread was made in a skillet on top of the stove. Beans and peas were boiled in a big pot. Before I was five years old, I ate enough black-eyed-peas and turnip greens to last me the rest of my life.

My mother’s best friend, Ilene Timmerman, came from a prominent Dallas family. From the time I was old enough to be put on the interurban trolley, I made the 30-mile “journey” from Fort Worth to spend a week at a time with Ilene and her grandmother in their home, a big cream brick house, half a block from Turtle Creek in North Dallas.

Ilene’s grandmother, Mrs. G. D. Smith, had a cook who prepared wonderful meals. When World War II came, the cook disappeared, and Ilene gained control of the kitchen. She was a gourmet cook. She also loved to dine in fine restaurants, and she took me to the best places in Dallas.

(2)Married Woman

I met a young airman stationed at Carswell Air Force Base. We married, and I moved with him to Chicago. My mother-in-law was convinced that the only way to prepare meals was the way they did in Denmark. She never heard of cornbread stuffing. At Thanksgiving she stuffed her turkey with prunes and apples. That’s when I realized that most people form their food preferences by what they ate as children.

My husband and I sampled many ethnic restaurants in the Chicago area. I loved open-faced Danish sandwiches with their variety of toppings, and I especially enjoyed Chinese dishes, chop suey in brown sauce, chow mein on crispy noodles, and thick patties of egg foo yong.

After my son Karl was born, each morning at 10 a.m. I turned on the television and let Francois Pope teach me how to cook. I managed to take notes even as I cradled my baby in my arms. Pope was Chicago’s Julia Child. I learned all the basics of French cooking.

I made daily trips to the neighborhood bakery for freshly baked bread and pastries. Once a week I drove to Irving Park Road to buy fresh produce and to watch “our” butcher cut pork chops off the pig’s carcass.
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I tried new dishes from recipes I clipped from the Chicago Tribune and American Home Magazine. I developed a repertoire of favorite dishes, but never served the same dinner menu twice in one month. For 27 years my husband and family enjoyed my “gourmet” cooking.

Then I was divorced.

(3)Traveler

I always wanted to go to Europe. After the divorce I sold my house in Illinois and went to Europe for six months. I thought I would never be able to afford to travel again. But five years later I married my second husband. John took me to Europe on a month-long honeymoon. After he died, he left me enough income to make at least one overseas trip a year for the next twenty years.

In Russia I learned that borscht can be prepared in many different ways, and I liked all of them. In Paris I thrilled at what I saw in museums, but for dining, rather than Paris, I enjoyed more marvelous dinners in small towns in the French countryside.

I enjoyed Hungarian food in Hungary, Greek food in Greece, Italian food in Italy, Spanish food in Spain, and Chinese food in Copenhagen, Berlin, Paris, and even in China.

From my travels in the U.S., I knew that Chinese food was prepared differently in New York, Illinois, and California, but I was surprised in Copenhagen when egg foo yong was scrambled eggs. After going to China, my traveling companion said, “The Chinese should send to Chicago for a chef to teach them how to prepare Chinese food.”

Never order spaghetti in Germany.

4) The Critic

Many of my friends in this retirement community have lived in Texas all their lives and have never traveled. They think the only way to eat seafood is fried catfish. We have it every Friday.

What a bore!

Then our cook tries to go gourmet. He comes out with strange concoctions. Every day the menu says “mixed vegetables.” One week we had squash four times, each time combined with something different. One day “mixed vegetables” was yellow summer squash and zucchini. Squash and mushrooms? Please!

I wish I could give our chef tips on menu planning and food preparation. I know good food and the variety of ways it can be prepared. But the administration does not want a mere resident interfering in the kitchen.

The nice thing is that I can go to the dining room, sit down, unfold my napkin, and give my order to Linda. It may not be like a dinner in Arles or Nice, but I don’t have to cook.